Beginning - Book Three

seven

The meeting was unimportant. We were called to the parlour and, upon Enoch's arrival a few moments after my own, our housemates were swift to erupt into a chorus of greetings, having not seen him since the previous evening. As ever, he seemed less than impressed, although made sure to appear appreciative so not to cause any upset. Miss Peregrine leans against the mantelpiece, slender arms folded across the stiff, unmoving bodice of her jacket. Marguerite strolled from the corner of the room and leant against the chair in which her daughter sat. Florence sat bolt-upright, a simpering expression plastered across her painted lips - looking almost like a figure from a portrait.

I had to sit across from her, not by choice, rather due to the fact that only a single seat remained. In the time I was forced to look at her, she become increasingly doll-like. She had changed into a white satin bathrobe, a slither of her cotton nightdress poking out between her neck and the lace trim of the gown. Her eyes appeared especially large in the light of the fire: they dazzled like gemstones, emeralds, as the flames danced behind the hearth guard. Her eyelashes cast striping shadows across her eyelids, reaching an end at her slim brows. The end of her tiny nose rounded into a sphere - so sickeningly perfect that an artist would have struggled to create it. The Cupid's bow of her rosebud mouth seemed to form two peaks, pointing up to the heavens. The corners of her pink lips twitched into a smile as she turned to look at something - I thought she had beamed at me at first. However, to my frustration, her eyes were directed to the seat beside me - Enoch flashed her a half-hearted grin in return. I found myself reaching for his hand, squeezing it tightly as I smiled back at her with such force that I could feel it morph into a grimace.

Marguerite took great pleasure in gushing about a tailor whom we would be visiting as a group the following morning, only to sink into disappointment when her audience were underwhelmed by the purpose of the gathering. Miss Peregrine was swift to bid us all a good night and hurry the younger ones to bed, so not to cause her friend anymore embarrassment. One by one, my housemates dragged themselves from their seats and, with their posture slumping beneath fatigue, carrying themselves up the stairs to their bedrooms. Florence appeared to glide from her chair before kissing her mother goodnight. Her robe gleamed as a pearl might have in the dim light of the parlour. As she moved, the hem formed frills around her ankles - for just a moment, she looked close to angelic. Those large eyes of hers lingered on Enoch for a moment.

"I hope you feel better soon. Perhaps I'll see you tomorrow morning?"

My eyes widened in disbelief.

"Er - yes. Yes." Enoch splutters, somewhat taken aback. "Goodnight."

She grinned at him as she waltzed into the hallway, her hair swinging like a horse's tail down her neck. His gaze followed her for a second or two, before meeting my own, narrowed eyes.

"What is she playing at?" I say through gritted teeth whilst we ascend the stairs together. "Why would she say that to you and nobody else?"

"Don't lose your head over it, Violet." Enoch replies, a bounce to his tone. "She's probably just being nice. We had a good conversation-"

"For goodness sake - she's so sly." My rage only grows as he tries to salvage Florence's impression on me. I can feel myself bubbling over like hot water. "Surely she's seen you hold my hand or something like that!"

"Stop it now." He responds, cutting me short. Enoch stands in front of me, blocking my path to the corridor. "You know how I feel about you, Violet. I wish you'd trust me."

"I do." My voice shrinks to almost a whisper once my irrationality is brought back to my attention. "Do you trust me?"

"Of course I do." His hands find my waist. The feeling is familiar, warm. "I love you, remember?"

His words seem to push all wrongs into rights, and my rage fades into nothing. His gaze becomes inescapable.

"I love you too."

Enoch kisses me goodnight, and disappears around the corner without another word. I feel as if I'm walking on air whilst I navigate the hallways to my own bedroom, and shut the world out as quickly as I can. The curtains have been closed, my bedspread pulled back and a glass of water sits on the bedside table. I allow my dress to fall from me as I venture to the bathroom, my fingers fumble to unpin my hair as I approach the mirror.

When I catch sight of myself in the glass, the content sensation I had been feeling melts away. Enoch's words both before and after my examination of her become somewhat meaningless. He may love me, yet I am not sure I could love myself. My face is rounder than it once was, more freckles have appeared on my cheeks. No matter how many times I attempt to manipulate the lighting, my eyes will not sparkle like opals. My body looks strange in the reflection, distorted, strangely too feminine, top-heavy. Before I can gather myself, I sink to the tiled floor and allow a few teardrops to run down my cheeks.